LA VERNE – Albert V. Aguirre must have had an angel on his shoulder – one wearing fatigues, combat boots and a helmet. The little winged warrior also needed to move fast and be ready for anything, because this Korean War veteran seemed always to be putting himself in harm’s way.

Aguirre, a La Verne native who lives there still, was drafted into the Army at age 20 in July 1951 and almost immediately volunteered for paratrooper school.

“They accepted me, and I was happy,” said Aguirre, now 79. “There were 250 of us that went to jumper school, but only 150 of us graduated. I was one of them.”

Aguirre became a parachute rigger. The soldiers were asked, “anyone wanting to volunteer to go Korea, take two steps forward.”

Aguirre’s feet were moving before the officer finished his question.

“My friends were so happy that I volunteered to go,” he said. “I wanted to go. I already had three friends killed in action over there. I wanted to go for them.”

Aguirre, a member of the 187th Airborne Regimental Combat Team, spent two weeks in rough waters on his way to Yokohama. Once there he learned that the Korean terrain was determined to be too rough for jumpers.

While others wanted to steer clear of the Korean front lines, Aguirre went to his superior and asked to go on the next transport.

“The captain said to me, `Am I hearing you right? You want to volunteer?”‘ recounted Aguirre. “I said, `Yes, sir.’ He was a World War II veteran and he really admired that I wanted to go.”

One week later, Aguirre was bivouacked on the cold Korean ground. During a night patrol a jeep came up and summoned Aguirre back to base, then went on its way.

The jeep hadn’t gotten too far when the bivouac was attacked.

“All of a sudden it became real,” Aguirre said. “I started to feel like I made a mistake. I started thinking about all the friends I was never going to see again.”

Aguirre had many struggles with survivor’s guilt, but with the enemy lurking around every corner there wasn’t enough time to dwell on it.

Aguirre, an assistant machine gunner, and other seasoned soldiers were sent into combat on hilly battlefields.

Also in combat were many new artillery recruits, referred to as greenhorns.

“There were helicopters in the sky, we called them whirlybirds,” he said. “They had baskets on the side for the wounded.”

Aguirre witnessed many men killed and wounded, including a friend he couldn’t leave behind.

“I carried him down the hill to the helicopter, but I never learned if he made it home alive,” Aguirre said, getting emotional. “With every mission we seemed to go deeper and deeper into danger. You know we were only young men in our teens and early 20s. I was only 134 pounds.”

On one mission during a cold, snow-covered winter’s day, Aguirre fell behind and was lost for a couple of hours.

“I got turned around, everything was so loud,” he said. “The artillery kept firing, it was just plain hell. I got stuck in the trenches, and there was a snow avalanche.

“I tried to go through it, but fell farther behind. I knew the only way to survive was to get out. I was scared, and I was tired, but I kept pushing through. It’s a miracle I got out of there without getting hurt.”

It seemed that the enemy always held higher ground – a better position than the allies. This made relaying orders and coordinating battle plans difficult. Soldiers had to rely on training, instinct and their will to survive.

During one campaign, when an order came to pull back, Aguirre chose a different tack.

“I held my position,” he said. “But so much gunfire hit the dirt above me, and it began to fall. Soon I was buried alive. I was cursing and screaming and crying, calling, `please, Mommy, get me out of here, I don’t want to die.’ I just kept digging and digging until I finally felt wind on my hand.”

Thanks to air support dropping napalm, Aguirre was able to get himself to safety.

His angel was hard at work one morning when Aguirre went for breakfast.

“I went to the mess tent, and my buddy stayed behind,” he remembered. “I heard and felt a blast. I turned around and my friend was bloody. It felt like a bad dream. I felt like I was floating in a cloud. I could hear screams of `medic, medic.”‘

Aguirre spent two years in Korea and sent most of his $85-a-month paycheck home to help support his family.

He suffered hearing loss from bomb and artillery blasts.

Aguirre and his wife, Lupe, have been married for 56 years and have five children, 12 grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. He worked for more than 35 years for the Rowland Unified School District.

“I survived a lot of close shaves,” he said. “There always seemed to be snipers all around us all the time, and at night it was so dark that you couldn’t see your hand in front of your eyes. I was so lucky to come home.”